What Do You Do With A Drunken Sailor?
by JWood201
Summary: One too many champagne toasts at the Howells' have some very interesting consequences.  During "The Matchmaker."
1. The Morning After

_Takes place between Acts 1 and 2 of "The Matchmaker."  
__Title credit and a giant shout-out to callensensei, who knows more about sea shanties than I and who put up with my writers' block whining._

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**The Morning After**

Mary Ann awoke to the unpleasant tingling sensation of her right arm going numb beneath her. She opened her eyes and immediately squeezed them shut again as the bright morning sunlight sent a searing pain shooting through her head. She winced and slammed her left hand over her forehead.

She lay still for a few minutes listening to the peaceful sounds of morning on a tropical island, waiting to see if the pain would subside. It didn't, but she realized that the chirping birds were particularly loud this morning. A monkey suddenly calling through the jungle echoed in her head like a police siren and Mary Ann gasped. Her eyes flew open in surprise and she gasped again as she was blinded for a second time. She clenched her eyes shut and clamped her hand over her left ear instead. She pressed her right ear further into her pillow in a desperate attempt to muffle the noise.

It was at this point that she finally noticed her pillow was moving.

Subtly, yet rhythmically, up and down.

She also noticed for the first time the pressure of something resting across her back and left shoulder as she lay on her right side. Mary Ann almost opened her eyes to investigate, but thought better of it at the last minute. She was trying to determine how best to proceed when the shape beneath her shifted.

"No, you're twice as sweet as me," it muttered in its sleep and Mary Ann's jaw dropped as she suddenly remembered dinner at the Howells', the couple's fight, and the innumerable champagne toasts that she and Gilligan downed in an effort to find the one to reunite them.

Gilligan moved again and Mary Ann felt the object draped over her shoulder – which she could now safely assume was an arm – tighten around her. She felt the other arm appear around her waist as he unconsciously hugged her to his chest as a child hugs his teddy bear mid-dream.

"Mary Ann, stop," he giggled, "That tickles."

Mary Ann was about to reply – maybe even apologize – when she realized that he was still asleep and must be reliving some occurrence from the night before that was currently lost to her own permeable memory.

Her jaw dropped further and she struggled to rack her brain. She remembered that she and Gilligan had finished the bottle of champagne trying to find the right toast to reunite the Howells. She also remembered a bad case of the hiccups and that it had taken three tries and Gilligan's help to get out of her chair after the older couple fled to opposite corners. She also vaguely remembered some sort of confusion as to how to get to the girls' hut as Gilligan attempted to walk her home, even though all the huts are in the same clearing. And laughter. Lots of laughter.

At some point during her furious attempt at recollecting the previous night, Mary Ann's addled brain decided it had had enough and she dozed off, her head throbbing too much to even consider moving. Wherever she was, she was otherwise comfortable, her right arm no longer bothering her since it had gone completely numb. Gilligan's heart beat soothingly by her right ear and his arms around her back kept her warm.

She woke again when he moved once more. "Where'd you learn how to do that?" he murmured and Mary Ann propelled herself off of him as quickly as she could, the sudden movement sending a shot of pain through her head so intense that she nearly toppled over backwards.

She cried out as she saw bright sunlight once again and slapped a hand over her eyes, her numb right arm flailing, looking for something to grab on to. By chance, it found a slender tree trunk and she held on for dear life. She sat back on her heels and whimpered, waiting for the pain in her head to subside. Somewhere in front of her, Gilligan was snoring softly.

"Gilligan," she gasped. "Gilligan, wake up!" She squeezed her eyes closed and reached out blindly. She found his torso and shook him. "Gilligan!"

She heard him groan sleepily and then yelp when he opened his eyes. He threw his arms over his face and fell back. "Ow! Mary Ann, what are you doing in my hut?"

"We're not in your hut."

"Then what am _I_ doing in _your_ hut?" he squeaked.

"We're not in my hut either."

He was quiet and Mary Ann peeked cautiously at the young man sprawled out in the soft grass. "Gilligan. Where's your shirt?"

Gilligan peered down at his t-shirt and seemed surprised to find that it was not hidden beneath his red rugby shirt as usual. He looked up at Mary Ann, kneeling a few feet away, and squinted at her. "You're wearing it."

Mary Ann slowly removed her hands from her eyes and noticed for the first time that the sleeves of Gilligan's shirt were hanging well below her fingertips. She studied the red cuffs for a moment before rapidly pulling her arms free and wrenching the shirt over her head, as if getting it off fast enough would neutralize the fact that she had it on in the first place.

Mary Ann was buried in a sea of red fabric when she heard Gilligan yelp again. "Mary Ann, stop!" he yelled, and then his voice became muffled, "I know why you're wearing my shirt!"

Mary Ann freed herself and glanced at the sailor, who had flung his arms over his face again, and then down at her dress, which was ripped across the front. She gasped and yanked the shirt back down, hugging her arms tightly around herself. "How did that happen?"

"I donno!" Gilligan had rolled over and was now facing the trees just to be safe. "I think you fell."

Mary Ann nodded encouragingly to herself. Falling would explain the gigantic tear down the front of her dress. Falling would also explain the bits of grass and other island debris stuck in the fabric, the streak of dirt across her skirt, and the particularly nasty grass stain on her right side. Falling sounded good.

Mary Ann ran a hand through her hair, sending a light shower of sand to the ground. Any semblance of the fancy up-do she had worn to the Howells' was long gone. She pulled a leaf from the long brunette waves and tossed it away.

"Ow," Gilligan suddenly muttered, having rolled onto something hidden in the grass. "What's this?" Mary Ann looked up to see him holding an empty champagne bottle, squinting at the label. "Did we bring this from dinner?" He tossed it toward Mary Ann and it landed in the grass with a dull thud.

Mary Ann studied the dark green bottle and the gold label. "No, this isn't what Mr. Howell had at dinner." She suddenly gasped and Gilligan turned to her curiously. "Gilligan! This must be the other bottle that he had cooling in the stream. Did we drink this last night too?"

Mary Ann dropped the bottle as Gilligan rolled onto his back, looking truly concerned for the first time. "I guess so."

Mary Ann slid her hands blindly through the grass around her, searching for her blue hair ribbon to tie back her unruly locks. Irrationally, she somehow thought she would find it within arm's reach when she was also missing both her shoes, her purse, and a significant chunk of her dress. Miraculously, she felt the edge of the silky ribbon and grasped it, but it didn't come easily. She pulled the ribbon and whatever was attached to it toward her and cautiously opened one eye to the morning sunlight. The ribbon was tied tightly around the stems of a bunch of tropical flowers, collecting them into a large colorful bouquet, not dissimilar to the one Gilligan had left for her the previous day.

Mary Ann sighed and set the flowers down beside her, turning to peer once more at the sailor. He was still, but she knew he was awake. "Where's your hat?" she finally asked.

Gilligan reached up and gasped to find that it was, indeed, no longer on his head. Oddly, he seemed more shocked to learn that his hat was missing than he was to discover a girl wearing his shirt. Gilligan sat up quickly and twisted to look around him. He cried out immediately as the sudden movement intensified his headache and he flopped down onto his back, arms over his eyes.

Gilligan whined into his forearms, his brown hair sticking up in a million different directions above his elbows. When Gilligan moved his arms from his face to press his palms to his temples, Mary Ann couldn't tell for sure through her squinted eyes if his face was sunburned, blushing, or covered with lipstick. She covered her own face with her hands and groaned.

"It doesn't hurt as bad if you lie down and stay real still," Gilligan informed her serenely. His eyes were peacefully closed and he was rubbing his temples in slow circles. "Lie down."

"No," Mary Ann answered a little too quickly. "We have to go back to camp," she decided, but didn't move.

Gilligan took his hands from his temples and squinted at his fingers. He rubbed them together, red smearing across his fingertips. "What's all over my face?"

"What were you dreaming about?" Mary Ann heard herself blurt out in a desperate attempt to distract him.

The sailor froze. "I don't remember," he lied. "Why? Was I talking?"

"No." She finally seemed to come to a concrete conclusion. "Let's go home. Maybe the Professor has something he can give us for our headaches." Mary Ann gripped the tree trunk in both hands and slowly pulled herself to her feet. She held on tight and rested her cheek against the rough bark until the ground stopped pitching beneath her.

Gilligan, meanwhile, had groaned and rolled over. "Mary Ann, I don't feel good," he mumbled, face down in the cool grass.

"Neither do I."

"When we get back to camp, will you make me soup and tell me stories?"

"No." It sounded harsher than she meant it and she could tell he was pouting.

"But you always make me soup and tell me stories when I don't feel good."

"I feel just as bad as you do this time." She hesitated. "You don't understand what's going on here, do you?"

Mary Ann had been expecting a classic Gilligan response, something along the lines of, "Do I ever understand what's going on?" So when he merely sighed, panic began to set in.

"Gilligan, what happened?" Mary Ann asked softly.

He was quiet for a long moment. The birds were still abnormally noisy, but luckily the monkey had moved on. She couldn't hear any waves and Mary Ann knew they were farther inland and farther from camp than she would've liked. Gilligan summoned the strength to push himself up on all fours, then to a sitting position, pressing his palm to his forehead. "I'm not sure."

Mary Ann somehow took a few steps from the tree as Gilligan staggered to his feet and nearly crashed into her. As Mary Ann peered into the grass for her shoes, Gilligan wandered forward and squinted into the distance. "I know where we are!" he suddenly exclaimed, his shout making them both flinch. "I haven't shown you this place yet, have I?" he whispered as Mary Ann approached.

"Apparently you did last night."

If the two castaways were able to open their eyes to the brilliant morning light, they would see that they were in the basin of a lush valley. Behind them the jungle rose sharply up the side of the mountain, but opposite it a path of thick green grass rose more gently out of the valley. Around them, avocado trees towered on three sides before giving way to palms, mango trees, flowering bushes, and a plethora of other tropical plants and fruit-bearing trees. Sunlight trickled through the leaves and speckled the soft grass beneath their feet.

Across the valley, the massive orange sun was almost entirely risen above the leafy horizon. They felt its warmth on their faces and at first had to shield even their closed eyes from its intensity. Mary Ann turned from the glare and hid her face in Gilligan's shoulder as he squeezed his eyes tightly closed and lifted his chin, raising his face to the sun's warmth.

They stood like that for a while and Mary Ann had almost fallen asleep leaning against him when he finally whispered:

"Mary Ann?"

"Hmm?"

"What about pancakes? Will you make pancakes?"


	2. The Night Before

_I'm not sure how much sense this makes, but here's the drunken shenanigans. Stay tuned for the fallout. :D_

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**The Night Before**

"Come on, Gilligan! Just one more time. _Please_?"

"You really like it, don't you?"

"I love it."

"Aren't you tired?"

"No."

"Well, I am. I've already done it, like, five times."

"Oh, come on, Gilligan! Besides, I need to practice."

"Fine. This time you have to help."

"Okay, but slow down. I can't keep up with you."

"Okay. You ready?"

Mary Ann nodded eagerly. Then, taking a deep breath, they began to sing. Loudly and in two drastically different keys.

"Just sit right back and you'll hear a tale, a tale of a fateful trip! That started from this tropic port, aboard this tiny ship!"

Gilligan had rushed to teach her this song after a rather disastrous attempt at getting through the old shanty about what to do with a drunken sailor, which Mary Ann found hilariously appropriate for the situation at hand. During the verse about putting the poor guy in bed with the captain's daughter (which isn't actually a person, but Gilligan's Freudian slips don't adhere to pirate slang), Gilligan accidentally changed the lyric to "the farmer's daughter" and Mary Ann teased him relentlessly. His face turned redder than his shirt as she informed him that she knew exactly what she'd do with a drunken sailor and he just had to be patient to find out. He finally distracted her by offering to sing her the song he had written about their shipwreck that he never shared with anyone else.

Now while performing his own composition, Gilligan took a solo as Mary Ann cackled with delight. She fell against his shoulder as she sat beside him in the sand next to the bonfire they built. "The mate was a mighty sailin' man, the Skipper br–," he stopped and giggled, unable to resist Mary Ann's infectious laughter. "You really like my song?"

"It'll be stuck in my head for the next forty-six years. Although I do have one question." Mary Ann narrowed her eyes and leaned into him, their noses very nearly touching. "How come my name's last?"

She intimidated him similarly the first time he sang the song all the way through, having labeled her and the Professor as "the rest" at the end of the last verse. Gilligan claimed that there were too many of them and the rhythm didn't work any other way. But Mary Ann pouted up at him with her best manufactured look of doe-eyed heartbreak and he quickly found a way to get everyone's name into the song. Now, of course, she wanted to know why she was last.

"Oh. Well, y–you know. You're supposed to save the best for last."

A radiant smile broke across her face. "You're sweet, Gilligan." Mary Ann quickly rubbed her nose against his in a traditional eskimo kiss and got up to wander down the beach.

"You're twice as sweet as ..." Gilligan nearly went cross-eyed trying to see his tingling nose, so he abandoned the rest of this sentence to leap to his feet and trot after her.

Mary Ann turned to walk backward for a few steps so she could address him, nose turned to her shoulder. "Your shirt smells like you," she decided and turned around again, almost tripping in the upturned sand, but saving herself at the last minute.

"Sorry."

"Don't be. I like it."

It was for his own sanity, not merely an act of chivalry, that had made him insist she take his shirt after falling into the underbrush and inadvertantly taking her down with him. His shirt hung long on her, but since he was so skinny she still filled it out nicely. Gilligan was only slightly less distracted by this than he was by her ruined dress. He caught up to her, his gray t-shirt still tucked formally into his pants, and grabbed her arm just as she was on the verge of tripping again.

"The Skipper says sometimes I smell like a beached whale covered in barnacles. I don't know how he knows what one of those smells like, though."

Mary Ann suddenly stopped and swung in toward him, wrapping both her arms around his middle. She peered up at him, leaning her chin on his chest. "You're drunk," she announced.

Gilligan pouted down at her indignantly. "So are you."

"Ginger says you're a shy, frightened fawn," she informed him bluntly, not knowing the sentence was going to come out of her mouth until it appeared of its own accord. Gilligan looked appropriately stunned and she giggled. "Yeah, like that."

Gilligan drew up taller and rearranged his features to set his mouth in a confident line. "I am not."

"Sure you are." Mary Ann beamed at him.

"No, I'm not!"

"Yes, you are." She poked him in the stomach and practically skipped back down the beach.

"I am not! I'm tough and brave and – and I'm a _deer_, not a fawn! A buck! With great big antlers!" Gilligan stomped through the sand to where Mary Ann was smiling into the fire, holding her hands out to the warmth. "I'm a mighty sailin' man. It says so in the song." Mary Ann sensed him striking a very heroic sailor pose behind her. She almost turned around, but he lost his balance and nearly tipped over before she could.

"Remember when I jumped in the lagoon when I heard you screaming? I didn't even think about it, I just jumped right in. I'd do it again, too. It's not my fault you panicked and almost drowned us both." Gilligan watched the firelight flicker across her features. When she didn't say anything, he plowed ahead. "And then the next day I saved you all from that headhunter! Even though I thought he was the Skipper, I still saved you." He suddenly thought of something that he knew would get her and he smirked. "If you recall, I was wonderful twice that day."

Mary Ann turned to find him watching her with one raised eyebrow, skinny arms crossed confidently across his chest. She hadn't realized he had been listening to her so closely all these months. "I remember."

"And I was wonderful when I saved Emily from getting eaten by the – no, that was in my dream." He looked embarrassed and Mary Ann's mouth opened in surprise. "Watubi!" he continued quickly, hoping that she didn't catch that he not only had dreams in which she featured prominently, but also found him praise-worthy. "My Watubi was wonderful, too. And when I fought off the supply hut robber – you thought that was _marvelous_!" Gilligan crossed his arms again and fixed her with his best 'so there' look. She was quiet and he shifted uneasily. "Fawns aren't marvelous."

Mary Ann waited another moment to see if he was through, and then took a step toward him. She stood unnecessarily close to him as she delivered the news: "She meant with girls."

Gilligan's face fell. "What?"

Mary Ann stood up on her toes to address him covertly. "She meant you're shy with girls."

Gilligan squirmed uncomfortably in the sand, but couldn't uncross his arms with her pressed against him. "That's ... that's not true." Mary Ann patted his shoulder and turned away. "What about that thing with Duke? I did pretty good, right?"

"Magnificent." Mary Ann humored him with a smile from where she had sat down in the sand beside the fire. Gilligan frowned and trudged over, plopping down next to her. "Oh, stop pouting, Gilligan. I think it's charming."

"I don't," he muttered with the biggest pout she'd ever seen. Suddenly, he sat up straight again, indignation fueling his confidence. "Well –! Well ... what would Ginger do if she showed up right now and saw me doing this?" Gilligan faltered, having clearly not thought out exactly what 'this' was. Finally, he seized Mary Ann's hand, laced his fingers through hers, and raised both their hands triumphantly in the air.

As much as Mary Ann loved it when he held her hand – when he helped her over a fallen log in the jungle, when he got so excited to show her something he literally dragged her away – she couldn't help but smirk. "Well, gee, Gilligan, don't give her a heart attack." Gilligan frowned and tried to take his hand back. "No, Gilligan, I'm sorry!" Mary Ann held on tight to his hand and pulled it toward her. "She'd be very impressed."

"No, she wouldn't. Plus, the guys have been teasing me all day."

"About what?"

"You."

"Oh."

"They think it's funny when you pass me stuff at breakfast. Mostly the past few days. I donno why. They said it's –," Gilligan paused to try to recollect the exact words, scrunching up his face as it seemed to help him think, " – highly indicative." He shrugged. "Whatever that means."

"Yeah, whatever that means," Mary Ann repeated quietly and finally released his hand. She was silent for a moment. "Ginger told me just to be sweet to you."

Gilligan looked at her as if she had just told him that the sky was green. "But you're always sweet to me."

"Thanks, Gilligan." Mary Ann picked up the bunch of flowers that lay beside her on the beach. She tightened the blue ribbon that held the bouquet together and lovingly fixed the bent and flattened petals.

Gilligan wasn't so clueless as to not see how disappointed Mary Ann was that it wasn't his idea to send her the flowers earlier. So after they stumbled out of the Howell hut that night, he gallantly picked her the biggest and most beautiful floral bouquet she had ever seen. It took well over an hour, with him leading her far off the main trail to search for the perfect blossoms, coordinating colors, and lecturing her the whole time about which flowers smelled the best, which butterflies preferred which flowers, and which color flowers looked best with her complexion.

Apparently he had thought about that at some point.

"You're always sweet to me, too."

"Oh, well, you're twice as –." Gilligan stopped, face twisting in confusion. That sounded familiar.

He decided to keep quiet, not wanting to wear out his one good line. But it still seemed to be working and Mary Ann smiled and linked her arm through his. The action sent an unusual tingle down his back and he shivered to shake it away.

"Gilligan, you must be freezing. Do you want your shirt back?"

"No! No, I'm fine. You keep it," he insisted as she put her flowers down and began rubbing his arms below his short sleeves to warm him up.

"You're going to get sick," she persisted.

"But then you'll make me soup and tell me stories." Gilligan made a weak effort to escape her touch, but Mary Ann ignored him.

"And whenever you get sick, I get sick because no one else can put up with your whining long enough to take care of you. And then I have to take care of myself."

"I'll tell you what, Mary Ann. Next time you get sick, I'll cook and tell you all about my Aunt Sarah's trip to Atlantic City. It's a good story. She won three dollars in the casino and ended up in jail with a chicken and..." Gilligan trailed off as Mary Ann released his arms and inexplicably climbed into his lap. She wrapped her arms tightly around him and laid her head on his shoulder. Gilligan was speechless for a moment, staring past her through huge eyes as he felt her forehead against his neck. "What are you doing?"

"The Professor says that body heat is the most effective way to stay warm."

Gilligan's brow furrowed. "Since when do you discuss body heat with the Professor?"

"Are you warm?"

"Yes. I mean, no! I mean – I'm fine. I like being cold." Gilligan gently pushed her out of his lap and onto the sand in front of him.

"Well, at least sit closer to the fire. You're going to get some crazy island pneumonia." Gilligan shifted closer to the blaze, scooting around so he was sitting across from Mary Ann as she moved her flowers and a near-empty champagne bottle out of the way. She pondered the green bottle for a moment. "Do you think Mr. Howell'll be mad that we drank this one too?"

"Nah." Gilligan took the bottle from her and began looking around for something in the sand. "If he wanted it, he wouldn't have left it in the stream when he took the other one." He continued digging through the sand and victoriously unearthed the two empty oyster shells that they had used as makeshift cups earlier. "Besides, most of it ended up in the sand, remember?"

Since they never got to eat anything at the Howells', Gilligan and Mary Ann's stomachs were grateful when they somehow ended up at the oyster bay after wandering for over an hour building the bouquet. They collected some fruit and dined under the stars on a meal of oysters, mangoes, and the other bottle of champagne they found in the stream next to the gorgeous orange hibiscus that were now in Mary Ann's new bouquet.

Gilligan even found a pearl in one of the oysters, which he gave to Mary Ann and was promptly rewarded with a squeal and a spontaneously hearty kiss. It was in his pocket now, though, since she had commissioned him to make her something with it.

The whole scene would have been incredibly romantic if they hadn't been too busy laughing hysterically at Gilligan's failed attempts to keep any champagne in his shallow oyster shell cup. Every time he filled it up, the liquid would slide out as he turned to put the bottle down in the sand. Mary Ann would giggle like a maniac when he turned back to find the shell empty. He'd glance around in confusion, then glare contemptuously at the shell before starting the whole process over again.

In the glow of the firelight on the beach, Gilligan started to pour some champagne, but stopped himself and handed the items to Mary Ann. "You do it this time. I'm clumsy enough normally." When he took the filled shell from Mary Ann, he thrust it high in the air. "I want to make a toast," he announced, wincing as half of the liquid splashed out of the shell and into his hair. "To twenty years of harmony and bliss. And the perfect marriage."

They clinked their shells together in a toast, tried to take a sip and stopped short. They hadn't noticed all the champagne slide into the sand as the shells collided. They pouted down into the empty shells, Gilligan glancing around the sand and patting his wet hair in confusion.

Mary Ann sighed as she tried to fill the shells again. "Poor Mr. and Mrs. Howell. I hope they make up."

"They always do."

Mary Ann suddenly giggled. "What do you think they'd say if they saw this?"

Gilligan's face split into an impish grin and he adjusted his invisible ascot. "I say, boy!" he exclaimed in an uncanny Mr. Howell impression and Mary Ann immediately spilled the champagne she had just poured. "What's the meaning of this?"

His eyes suddenly flew open and Gilligan's voice rose three octaves. "Thurston!" he trilled and Mary Ann nearly choked with laughter. "What's going on, Thurston? What have the children done now?"

"Dipped into my private stock, Lovey! What nerve! What gall! I mean, really!" Gilligan picked up a thin stick from the cool outskirts of the bonfire and brandished it in the air as Mr. Howell does his walking stick. "I demand that boy be keelhauled! Make him walk the plank!"

Gilligan abruptly broke a short section off of the stick and held it up next to his face. He looked Mary Ann up and down through his imaginary lorgnette and sighed. "How terribly inappropriate, Thurston. Out here without a chaperone. And to think it's all our fault!"

Mary Ann was doubled over, laughing so hard she was no longer making any noise. Tears sprung from her tightly shut eyes and she waved a hand in the air to get his attention. "Gilligan, stop!" she finally gasped.

But he was on a roll. "Shenanigans!" he thundered and another laugh exploded from her. "Lunacy! Tomfoolery, balderdash, and nonsense!" Gilligan waved his prop walking stick in the air, punctuating each statement with a jab.

"What should we do, Thurston? The Captain will be furious! Oh, but I do hope they'll let me plan the wedding!"

"He'll be demoted to mess duty for this! I'll see to it! And that one!" He turned on Mary Ann and she laughed all the harder. "We'll send her to the nunnery!"

With one last dramatic wave of the stick, Gilligan lost his balance and fell over backward in the sand. He lay still for a moment, his prop having flown over his head and into the foliage, the only sound being of Mary Ann desperately trying to catch her breath.

Gilligan opened his eyes when he felt something tickling his face and saw Mary Ann leaning over him. Her hair hung down past her shoulders and gently brushed his cheeks. "Oh, Gilly," she gasped between laughs. "You're so silly," she added and laughed harder when she realized she'd made a rhyme. Mary Ann leaned down and kissed him emphatically on the cheek.

When he sat up, Mary Ann saw in the firelight that she had left a pronounced red lipstick mark on his otherwise pale cheek. She reached out to rub it away, but succeeded only in smearing it across his cheekbone instead and she laughed.

"What?" Gilligan reached up to wipe his face, but she grabbed his hand from midair and steered it away.

"Stay still." Mary Ann took his chin in her hand and pressed her lips to his other cheek, smearing that lipstick mark out in an identical line. She narrowed her eyes and peered at him like an esteemed art critic, turning his head from side to side.

"What are you doing?" Gilligan managed before she covered his ears with her hands and yanked his head down so she could reach his forehead. Mary Ann spread the lipstick over his forehead with her thumbs as Gilligan went cross-eyed trying to see the print she had left on his nose.

"You'll see. Just wait." Mary Ann took him by the neck with both hands and pulled him toward her again. She had been aiming for his chin, but he was squirming and so she collided with his lips instead. When she released him, he blinked rapidly as she continued drawing patterns across his skin with the lipstick.

"Mary Ann!"

She shushed him from where she was adding a few more to his cheeks, jaw, and neck. He had frozen, muscles tense, until he suddenly squealed when she hit a sensitive spot below his left ear.

"Stop!" Gilligan laughed, making a half-hearted attempt to squirm away. "That tickles!"

Mary Ann finally sat back to study her handiwork, leaving a few of the lipstick marks unsmeared just for her own amusement. She peered at him for a moment before she burst into a fit of hysterical cackles.

"What's so funny?" Gilligan demanded, now a little indignant.

"You look like a Marubi."

Gilligan's eyebrows shot up and he lept to his feet to hurry to the water's edge. Mary Ann was close behind as he waded into the ocean. The bonfire and the low full moon made it easy to see his reflection in the gently rippling waters. Mary Ann peered over his shoulder as he bent to peer at himself.

Gilligan gazed at his mirror image in silence for a moment. He was a marked man. Mary Ann had decorated him in red waxy war paint like an ancient tribesman. He had two prominent streaks of red sweeping up his cheekbones, patterns across his forehead and cheeks, and lines down his nose and chin. He wasn't sure what the unsmeared lip-shaped marks signified in Marubi tradition, but he thought he looked pretty neat nonetheless.

Gilligan stared at his reflection for another moment before he began laughing. It started small, but soon bubbled up and poured from him in waves. He suddenly gasped and shot up straight, causing Mary Ann to instantly quiet as well.

"What?" she breathed.

"Marubi collect heads."

"Well, yeah. So –." Mary Ann stopped as she noticed the poor grammar, even for Gilligan.

He grunted. "Already have blonde one."

Mary Ann raised her eyebrows as she realized what he was doing. "Oh, really? Who's that?" she demanded, hands on hips. Gilligan narrowed his eyes and took a menacing step toward her.

"Oh, no!" she suddenly wailed melodramatically, deciding to play along. "Out here all alone with an evil Marubi! What ever am I going to _do_?"

Gilligan broke character, face twisting in disapproval. "Well, for starters, Mary Ann, you should leave the acting to Ginger." Mary Ann smirked and punched him in the shoulder. "Ow. And, secondly: you should run."

With that, he lunged for her, but she took off and splashed out of the water. She made a wide arc up the beach around their bonfire, being sure to carefully avoid the messages and artwork they had scrawled in the sand that evening.

Hours earlier, Mary Ann salvaged a broken bamboo pole from the beach and began scratching something in the sand. Gilligan tried to peer over her shoulder, but she kept him at arm's length, even accidentally elbowing him in the ribs once or twice.

He resorted to jumping up and down to sneak a peek and was able to see her note for a second before she blocked his view again. "West Germany?"

Mary Ann swatted him playfully. "Those are your initials."

"Oh, yeah. Sometimes I forget I have a first name." Gilligan found the other half of the broken bamboo pole and moved a few feet down the beach, inspired to compose his own message.

"What are you writing?" Mary Ann asked, close behind him.

Gilligan spread his arms secretively. "Nothing."

"Let me see."

"No. It's personal."

Mary Ann rested her chin on his back and peered up at his ear, which may or may not have been turning a faint shade of crimson. "Is it about me?"

He hesitated long enough to inform her that he was going to lie. "Absolutely not."

Mary Ann stared at his gray cotton-clad back for a moment before reaching out and tickling him in the ribs. Gilligan yelped and jumped three feet in the air, twisting away from her. He tossed the pole aside and rushed her before she could read his message and she let him chase her straight into the ocean. She shrieked with laughter and spun around to splash him with the cold salt water. But Gilligan merely lowered his head and charged, his shoulder connecting with her abdomen. He hooked his arm behind her knees and lifted her effortlessly from the water, slinging her over his shoulder. She shrieked again and clutched at his back, her feet futilely kicking at the air as he carried her back to the beach.

Now the evil Marubi was hot on Mary Ann's heels until she deftly lept over a piece of driftwood that Gilligan didn't see, sending him sprawling to the sand face-first. Mary Ann glanced over her shoulder to see him scramble to his feet and charge after her again.

When he didn't catch up to her in the next few seconds, Mary Ann spun around to steal another glance behind her and was surprised to find him much closer than she anticipated. He tried to stop, but her hesitation and his momentum sent him skidding into her. She hit the sand hard, landing flat on her back with him on top of her.

After recovering her breath, Mary Ann looked up at Gilligan, who was still in character, propped up on his elbows and glaring down at her. She arranged a look of heart-melting wide-eyed terror on her face. "What are you going to do with me?"

Gilligan grunted. "Take to island. Throw in volcano."

"Hey!"

"Okay. Second thought. Take to island. Make bride."

Mary Ann shrugged with surrender and linked her arms around his neck. "Okay."

Gilligan sighed dramatically. "Mary Ann! You're supposed to, like, scream and cry and try to run away and stuff."

"I'm sorry. But you're kinda cute for a bloodthirsty headhunter."

Gilligan harrumphed once and pouted into the sand annoyance. Mary Ann suddenly grew quiet and he glanced up to find her staring at him intently.

He wasn't sure if it was because of the weight of her arms around his neck or if she was actually pulling him toward her, but he quickly became very aware of her brown eyes getting closer.

He saw her eyes close and felt her lips barely brush his, gently, different than before, and then again, a little more confidently. The last thing he remembers with any sort of certainty is feeling like he'd just been electrocuted and then closing his eyes.


	3. The Walk of Shame

**The Walk of Shame**

The Skipper twisted his hat in distress, nearly tearing it in two in his giant hands. The Professor was saying something, but he couldn't hear him. He anxiously shifted in the sand by the table, his feet wanting to move, to run, to keep looking.

He froze and stared at the Professor in dismay as he displayed what he had found on his search. The Skipper looked from the items, up to the scientist's face, and back again, still not hearing a word he was saying.

"W–where did you say you found them, Professor?" he asked the Professor set Mary Ann's shoes down on the table next to her purse, which the Skipper had deposited there just a moment before.

"At the oyster bed," he replied as Ginger reappeared in camp, sauntering over to the men with both hands behind her back and a satisfied smirk on her face.

"You know what they say about oysters, Skipper," Ginger offered with a grin as she stepped up beside him. The Professor shot her a look, but the Skipper didn't seem to hear her at all. The captain's mind was too full of wild animals, cliffs, quicksand, and vicious headhunters.

The captain suddenly turned to her. "Ginger, are you sure Mary Ann didn't come back to the hut at all last night?"

"I don't know, I was with the P –." Ginger stopped and gazed innocently at some spot over the Skipper's head. "I was asleep."

"And they weren't at the banyan tree either?" he asked and Ginger shook her head. "They love that tree! I thought for sure they'd be at the tree!" The Skipper smacked his hat down on the table in frustration. "Did you look _in_ the tree?"

"They weren't there, Skipper. But I did find something." Ginger took one hand from behind her back and the Skipper gasped.

"My little buddy's hat!" he exclaimed and snatched it from her, turning it over in his hands and studying it for any clues. "He never takes off his hat! Where was it?"

"In the underbrush around the tree. Right next to this." Ginger grinned wickedly and raised her other hand, a long swatch of blue fabric rising before the Skipper's growing eyes.

After a moment, the Professor hesitantly asked the obvious question, "Ginger, what is that?"

Ginger tauntingly swung the fabric in front of the still-stunned Skipper like a hypnotist's pendant, hoping he'd get the hint. "Mary Ann's dress."

The Skipper's mouth started moving before any sound escaped. "Headhunters," he muttered and Ginger grunted with frustration. "They took her. They got them both. We gotta do something. Professor! We have to get down to the lagoon and see if they've left! We can build a raft. We gotta get them back!" The Skipper clutched his cap to his head and started for the lagoon, but the Professor grabbed his arms, digging his heels into the sand to hold the captain back.

"Skipper! Skipper, stop! I've already been to the lagoon! There's no sign of any native boats or rafts being there recently. The only footprints in the sand are Gilligan and Mary Ann's. There never were any headhunters!"

"But Professor –!"

"Gilligan and Mary Ann are still on the island. And they're together. We have no reason to believe that anything has happened." Ginger snorted and the Professor tried again: "We have no reason to believe that anything _bad_ has happened." Ginger giggled and the Professor continued without turning to look at her, "There is evidence of a bonfire, but they clearly didn't stay the whole night at the lagoon. At some point they moved on and put out the fire."

"Not entirely."

Ginger grinned and the Professor ignored her again, raising the volume of his voice to drown her out. "Skipper, Gilligan knows this island like the back of his hand. And you know he'd never let anything happen to Mary Ann."

The Professor seemed to realize his continued poor choice of wording and paused, anticipating another comment. He turned to Ginger, but the actress just shrugged and smiled placatingly at him.

"But what about the notes we found, Professor?" she asked in her sweetest voice.

"Notes? What notes?" the Skipper exclaimed, overwhelmed with thoughts of ransom notes and badly spelled announcements of Gilligan's intentions to run away and spend eternity in the jungle as a lone wolf.

"Ginger, that's hardly relevent."

"Sure, it is, Professor."

"Where are they? Let me see them!" The Skipper was practically shaking with worry, the actress's nonchalance only frustrating him more.

"They're written in the sand down on the beach. The tide probably washed them away by now." Ginger shrugged and the Professor shook his head hopelessly.

"Well, what did they say?" the Skipper exploded, redfaced and quivering.

The Professor sighed grandly. "Ginger, we don't have time for this." The actress ignored him, however, and wrinkled her nose in exaggerated thought.

"Let's see. There were some drawings, mostly stick figures. They looked like Gilligan's handiwork. Something about 'kissing trees,' which I don't really understand. Oh! There was one about 'hunting my butterflies.' I will most definitely be asking some questions about that." Ginger added as an aside to the increasingly impatient Professor, not noticing the Skipper growing paler beside her. "Initials, plus signs. You know, the usual. Oh, and my favorite!" Her eyes lit up and she swept her hand across the air in front of them as if displaying a headline: "'I Heart Mary Ann's Pancakes.'"

The Professor dropped his head, but the Skipper suddenly seemed to snap back to reality, confusion settling in where terror once was. "What's so strange about that? We all love Mary Ann's pancakes."

"I'm sure you do, Skipper."

"Ginger, that's enough!" the Professor finally interjected. "Despite your great amusement – and I must admit that the concept itself is vaguely entertaining – the fact that we did not find them indicates the possibility that they may have met with an accident."

"Oh, Professor," Ginger scolded with her best pout, "How can you be such a party pooper? Especially after we –."

"Good morning, all!" Mrs. Howell trilled, much to the Professor's relief, as she emerged from her hut. "I do hope the children weren't too traumatized last night. I'm afraid Thurston acted atrociously. I just wanted so much for them to see how lovely marriage can be. Although at the moment I'm not too fond of it myself," Mrs. Howell added with an icy glance back at her hut, where her husband was still sulking. "I do want to apologize. And perhaps try again," she added with a wink to Ginger. "Where are they?"

"They haven't come back yet," Ginger replied, a smile pulling at the corners of her mouth.

"Haven't come back? But ... but it's tomorrow!" Mrs. Howell exclaimed, scandalized. She paused and raised a thoughtful finger to her lips. "Oh, dear. I didn't think it would work _that_ well." She pointed to the blue fabric in the actress's hand. "Ginger, isn't that ...?"

Ginger grinned and nodded, waving it teasingly in the air until the Skipper couldn't stand it any more. Redfaced, he grabbed it from her and hastily threw it down on the table amidst the other found objects.

"Oh, dear," Mrs. Howell repeated, looking stricken. "It must have gotten ripped by something."

"Or someone."

"Ginger!"

"I'm sorry, Mrs. Howell. But you got what you wanted."

"I wanted a _wedding_!" the socialite defended her moral standards as the Skipper turned to gape at her.

"What are you two talking about!" the captain demanded, but Ginger ignored him, smirking at the socialite.

"Well, depending on how last night went, you might get one."

"Ginger, please!" The Professor had finally had enough and waved his hands in the air with great resolve. "We need to regroup and continue looking."

"Oh, Professor! We were out looking for them for hours. If they wanted us to find them, we'd have found them. I say we leave them alone."

"While I, perhaps ... in theory, agree with your general hypothesis," the Professor admitted and the actress grinned, "you cannot deny the possibility that something may have happened. You women have no sense of danger."

"And you men have no sense of romance!" Ginger shot back, hands planted on her hips, and Mrs. Howell nodded once, decisively, in agreement.

"Romance?" the Skipper finally exploded. "What's that got to do with anything?"

"Everything! Mrs. Howell was trying to set them up before she and Mr. Howell got into their fight. That's why they both went over there last night."

"Is that what you've been talking about?" Realization seemed to dawn and the Skipper blushed briefly before anger set in. "Now see here, Ginger! My little buddy is nothing if not a perfect gentleman!"

"Captain!" Mr. Howell thundered as he stormed from his hut, waving an empty champagne bottle. "I demand your crew be keelhauled for this! Draining an entire bottle from the Howell private stock right under our noses while our backs were turned! And then leaving the detritus lying about my hut!" Howell shook the bottle in the air in resentment before noticing the scene before him. "What's this? Shoes on the breakfast table! Really!"

"Thurston, be quiet!" Mrs. Howell whispered urgently, clutching at her husband's shirt. "The children never came back last night."

"Hiding in shame, I suspect! Serves them right! Breaking my priceless, one-of-a-kind, solid-gold camera. Drinking my champagne! Carousing at all hours of the night!"

"That's enough, Howell!" the Skipper interrupted, "I've never met two more innocent people in my entire life! They would never –."

The conversation screeched to a halt as Gilligan and Mary Ann staggered into camp. Five pairs of eyes widened at their arrival and Ginger's perfectly arched eyebrows rose in amusement. The Skipper's last statement hung heavy in the air as Mrs. Howell peered at them through her lorgnette.

Mary Ann stopped dead when she saw the others gaping at them and Gilligan stumbled to a halt beside her. He had one arm around her back to help her stay upright, the empty champagne bottle they found in the clearing clutched in his other hand. As he emerged from the shadows of the trees, the morning sun illuminated his pale face, lipstick war paint deepening in contrast. Mary Ann still wore Gilligan's shirt, her disheveled hair falling in her face. She grasped one end of her blue ribbon, the bouquet of flowers dangling by her side. Her other arm was wrapped around Gilligan's waist, fingers hooked in his belt loops.

The seven castaways stared at each other for a long moment.

The champagne bottle slipped from Mr. Howell's limp grasp and landed with a dull thud on the Skipper's foot.

Finally, Ginger spoke, making a valiant effort to suppress the smile trying to force its way onto her face. "Is that – is that a hickey?"

Mary Ann's eyes grew to three times their normal size.

In the long and uncomfortable silence that followed, Gilligan's brow furrowed and he glanced around the clearing as if he would be able to find one lying in the sand.

"What's a hickey?"


	4. The Fallout

**The Fallout**

Gilligan and Mary Ann sat side by side at the table, a steaming bowl of soup in front of each of them.

Mary Ann had gotten changed and given Gilligan back his shirt, which he now noticed smelled like her (and champagne and oysters and general wilderness). Both wore sunglasses to guard against the still-blinding morning light, Gilligan obliviously sporting Ginger's white cat's eye shaped glasses adorned with rhinestones.

He also hadn't washed the lipstick off his face. The longer he sat there like that in the sober light of day, the more uncomfortable Mary Ann got. She still wasn't entirely sure how it had gotten there, but she was pretty sure that it was her fault.

They looked up from their soup to find the five other castaways staring down at them from across the table. Ginger was smirking, but the men seemed utterly unamused, arms crossed in disapproval. Mr. Howell gently cradled the champagne bottle that Gilligan brought back to camp in his arms, pouting down at it with tears in his eyes.

"Lovey!" he wailed, "They drank my 1921 Dom Perignon! They only made a thousand of these!"

"Thurston, hush!"

"It was going to be worth a fortune some day!" He suddenly rounded on the Skipper. "Make him walk the plank, Captain! And her! We'll send her to the nunnery!"

"Thurston, be quiet!" Mrs. Howell swatted her husband on the arm and he pouted again, but nonetheless stayed silent.

"We don't feel well," Gilligan finally offered.

"I'm not surprised," the Professor replied and the clearing descended into silence again.

Gilligan shifted uncomfortably on the bench. "That means someone has to tell us a story."

Ginger expertly raised one incredulous eyebrow. "I think maybe you should be telling the story."

"Okay." Gilligan carefully put his spoon down. "One day, my Aunt Sarah decided to go to Atlantic City. So she signed up for one of those bus trips that all the old people take. She won three whole dollars at the casino, even though she had put ten in the machine. But then –."

"GILLIGAN!" the Skipper roared and both the first mate and Mary Ann covered their ears. "Not that kind of story! We want to know why you two never came home last night!"

"I know why."

"Ginger, that's enough!" he barked and she flinched, mouth opening in offense. "We were worried sick! Tell us what happened!"

"We can't," Mary Ann finally chimed in.

"That's right, Captain." Mrs. Howell turned around to peer up at the Skipper from her place on the bench. "It's none of your business."

"No," Mary Ann countered quickly. "We just can't remember," she added quietly, gazing into her soup in humiliation.

It was quiet for a moment, until the Skipper turned to Gilligan. "Little buddy?" he began in a much softer tone and Gilligan looked up from where he was watching Mary Ann blush into her bowl. "You don't remember how you ... um ..." He pointed helplessly at the first mate. "... on your face?" Gilligan curiously touched his cheek and gasped as he was instantly reminded of his condition. "Or how this ... ep ..." The Skipper turned a light shade of red and waved widely at the piece of blue fabric still on the table. "... how that happened?"

Gilligan glanced around the clearing, avoiding the five pairs of eyes on him. He had been getting flashes, snippets of things, all morning, but he wasn't sure if they had actually occurred, were figments of his imagination, or were from the dreams he had the night before. He wasn't sure if the dreams were real either or if he just had a better imagination than he thought.

But every once in a while, mostly when Mary Ann was within his field of vision, images would suddenly flash before his eyes for the briefest moment.

Drawing little people in the sand. Slinging Mary Ann over his shoulder to carry her out of the ocean. Chasing her down the beach as an evil Marubi. Catching her.

Gilligan swallowed hard and absentmindedly scratched his leg. His hand caught on something in his pocket and he curiously dug it out.

Gilligan held the pearl up in the sunlight and his eyes widened behind the sunglasses. He suddenly saw himself holding the pearl up in the moonlight the night before. He saw Mary Ann gasp as he pulled it from the oyster. Heard her squeal with delight. Felt her kiss him heartily when he gave it to her.

"Gilligan?" He slowly turned from the pearl to the Skipper's expectant face. As his gaze passed Mary Ann, Gilligan noticed her mouth open in recognition when she saw the pearl. "Do you remember where that came from?"

Before Gilligan could remember how to formulate a coherent sentence, the Professor interjected. "Folks, why don't we give them some quiet to eat and recover, alright? Let's leave them alone."

"Isn't that how this whole thing started?" Mr. Howell huffed and the Skipper gave him a shove toward his hut.

"Once they feel better, perhaps they'll remember more."

"I still say it's none of your business," Mrs. Howell scolded as she and Ginger begrudgingly stood. "A lady doesn't kiss and tell." Mary Ann groaned quietly and lowered her head until she was practically drowning in her soup.

"Behave, you two." Ginger winked at the pair as the Professor practically pushed her away from the table.

Mrs. Howell hesitated for a moment, guiltily surveying the sorry scene before her. She fidgeted with her diamond ring, twisting it on her finger fretfully. "I'm sorry," she finally admitted. "I just wanted –. I think you –."

She sighed and rounded the table to return to her hut. As she passed behind Mary Ann, Mrs. Howell paused. Mary Ann saw the older woman glance at her shoes, purse, and what was left of her dress, taunting her from the other side of the table. She bent slightly to whisper to the young girl. "Darling, what happened?"

"We fell."

Mrs. Howell smiled and squeezed Mary Ann's shoulder. "Good." She straightened up and raised her voice again. "Well! If you need me, feel free to stop by without an invitation." She waved a gloved hand in their general direction as she breezed back to her hut.

When they were alone, Gilligan and Mary Ann spent the next ten minutes pretending that they weren't doing their best to avoid acknowledging the other's presence. They glanced around the clearing, studied their soup intensely, suddenly found the tabletop incredibly interesting. Mary Ann thought she saw Ginger peeking from the supply hut for a moment before the Professor pulled her from the window.

Mary Ann took a deep breath and heaved a sigh that could move mountains. When she finally summoned the courage to peer over at Gilligan, she was rewarded with a sudden image flashing before her eyes and she gasped. She didn't remember being perched in his lap, but she could still almost feel the soft cotton of his t-shirt under her fingertips, the weight of his arm around her waist, his other hand resting on her leg.

Upon hearing Mary Ann gasp, Gilligan made the mistake of turning toward her. By the time Mary Ann had recovered enough to steal another look in his direction, she discovered him shaking his head vigorously, as if trying to dislodge a particularly alarming image.

Mary Ann braced herself for another shocking flash, but was pleasantly surprised by what she saw instead. Gilligan presenting her with a giant bouquet of flowers. An inharmonious sing along. Holding onto his hand as she followed him down the steep hill into the valley so he could show her the field of avocado trees he had discovered.

"I wish we had found two pearls. I'd kind of like a pair of earrings."

"What?"

"You're supposed to make me something with it, remember?"

Gilligan stared at her for a moment before a slow smile spread across his face. "Oh, yeah. What do you want?"

"Surprise me."

Gilligan set the pearl down on the table and peered into his soup. "So, you remember things?"

She shrugged. "Just pieces. You taught me your song."

"Yeah?"

"I made you change the ending." She hesitated a moment. "Do you remember anything ... interesting?"

"No!" Gilligan flinched at the intensity of his own answer. "I mean ... no."

Mary Ann shifted uncomfortably. "Me neither." She peered at him sidelong, afraid of what might pop into her consciousness should she actually look at him. "You really need to wash your face."

"Sorry."

"You look like a Marubi." The corner of her mouth twitched in a small smile.

Gilligan grunted around his spoon and Mary Ann laughed. They ate in silence for a few minutes, until Mary Ann finally put her spoon down and pushed her bowl away.

"This soup is awful."

"And they didn't even tell us a story."


	5. The Pearl

_Okay, kids, this is it. I'm not in love with this, but it works.  
__The first two closings of the letter are supposed to look scratched out, but won't let me do a strikethrough. It formatted correctly in Word, so just pretend, okay?_

**The Pearl**

The Skipper was worried.

Headhunters, he could handle. Hurricanes? No problem. Food blight? Piece of cake.

But this? This was serious.

The Skipper was normally a man of action. He formulated a plan, carried it through, and anticipated results. He didn't always get what he wanted or expected, but results were results nonetheless.

But this stumped him. He was paralyzed. He didn't know what to do mostly because he didn't know what happened. He wasn't entirely sure that the situation warranted yelling, or even a lecture. But he was sure that it required some sort of response.

So in the meantime, the Skipper resorted to planting himself solidly on the bench between Gilligan and Mary Ann at lunch that day. The first mate looked briefly surprised at being ejected from his usual seat, but he sat down at the end of the bench without comment.

The Howells were back at their fight, the scandal of the morning momentarily forgotten as the couple attempted to shift focus back to their own issues. At one point during the tense words that followed, the Skipper caught Gilligan direct a grateful smile at Mary Ann after she defended him to Ginger. The Skipper frowned and crossed his massive arms, attempting to fill up as much space between them as possible. The Howells sniffed and clicked all through the meal and the remaining castaways eventually stormed away one-by-one, irritated by one nonsensical comment or another.

Over the next few days, whenever the Skipper attempted to talk to Gilligan, the young sailor always insisted that he was fine, there was nothing to talk about, he felt a lot better, and he didn't remember anything anyway. Then he would quickly gather up an empty bucket or basket and busy himself with a chore that didn't need doing.

But sometimes the Skipper would enter his hut and catch Gilligan hide something he was working on. His hand would disappear briefly into his pocket and he would paste that disarming smile on his face and actually ask the Skipper if there were any chores he wanted him to do.

Sometimes when the Skipper brought up what Ginger took to calling The Incident, before Gilligan could insist that he was fine and disappear, the captain would catch a look flash across the young man's face for the briefest moment – a little bit embarrassed, a little bit ruminating, and a little bit proud of himself.

And sometimes the Skipper would look up from his plate at mealtimes as Mary Ann was telling a story and catch Gilligan watching her intently – a little bit captivated, a little bit perplexed, and a little bit twitterpated.

The Skipper was worried.

The letter that Mary Ann found on her pillow a week after The Incident went something like this:

_Hi Mary Ann,_

_Here are the earrings you said you wanted. I wanted to make you what you said you wanted even though we only found one pearl. So I used the other four pearls I found after all that gold sank our raft and made the earrings out of them. I know you'll take better care of them than me, so I want you to have them. Plus I'd look pretty dumb wearing pearls. I used the one we found the other night to make a necklace to go with them. __I didn't want it to get mixed up with the others.__ Anyway, I hope the earrings are what you wanted. Nobody ever asked me to make them something like this before. If you don't like them, I can change them._

_Sincer- Lov- From,  
__Gilligan_

_P.S.: Do you want to go butterfly hunting tomorrow? The Professor says the butterflies by the banyan tree will come out of their cocoons soon and I want us to see it. I fixed your net today. And I'm sorry I broke your net yesterday._

_P.P.S.: This isn't like the last time I left you something on your pillow. This is actually from me, I promise._

"Oh, Mary Ann," Ginger breathed as she looked up from the paper. "This one's a keeper."

"What?" Mary Ann lifted her head from where she was staring dumbly into the unwrapped box in her hands. "Oh. No. He made these for me because I asked him too."

"Sure, Mary Ann. And I help the Professor with his experiments because I like science."

Half an hour earlier, Ginger sauntered across the clearing, humming to herself, nearly drunk on contentment. She breathed deeply, the heady aroma of the flowers she carried just about knocking her over.

The actress suddenly skidded to a halt in her high-heeled tracks and swayed once before regaining her balance. She smirked and her eyebrows shot up as she spotted Gilligan cautiously leave the girls' hut and hurry away into the jungle. Ginger lowered the flowers from her nose and dashed through the sand toward her hut. She threw open the door with a triumphant "a-ha!" and was noticeably disappointed when her roommate was nowhere to be found.

Ginger sighed and entered the hut. She filled an empty gourd vase with water and deposited her bouquet on the vanity, where it was dwarfed by Mary Ann's giant bouquet from the previous week and even the now wilted misunderstanding bouquet from the day before that.

Ginger frowned slightly, hands on hips, as she studied her flowers. The Professor spent so much time lecturing her on all of the scientific names and practical medicinal uses for each and every blossom that at the end of an hour she was still only left with a third of the flowers her roommate had acquired.

The actress sat down at the vanity and raised her hand mirror to beam brilliantly at her reflection in the glass. She began fixing her hair, but froze upon spying something odd in the mirror.

Behind her, on Mary Ann's cot, was a package.

Ginger put down the mirror and spun around on the bench to make sure it was really there. She slowly stood and crept closer. On her roommate's pillow lay a small box wrapped in a giant palm leaf with a piece of hemp rope tied around it as a ribbon. A pink tropical flower decorated the present, stem pushed through the rope's knot. Beside the box lay a piece of paper, folded once. Ginger tip-toed closer and could see the faint upside-down handwriting through the top fold of the paper.

She bit her lip and pondered if it was still a federal offense to open someone else's mail if the letter was neither sealed nor sent through the actual mail.

She finally decided against it and instead called upon her years of stage experience to project her voice as if she were trying to reach the last row of the rear mezzanine of the biggest barn on Broadway.

"_MARY ANN!_"

Wherever the younger girl was on the island, she clearly heard her and eventually appeared in the doorway of the hut just as Ginger was about to die of impatience. Before Mary Ann could utter a word, Ginger tugged on her arm and pulled her over to her cot, turning her to face her pillow with a firm hand on each shoulder. "Ginger! What –." She froze. "What is that?"

"Open it! Open it!" Ginger bounced up and down in her heels, clapping her hands in delight. "I want to live vicariously!"

Mary Ann sat down on her cot and took the note in both hands. Ginger watched her restlessly, analyzing each slight change in facial expression, hands clasped in front of her face and anxiously biting one finger.

Mary Ann read painfully slowly and when she finally grinned, Ginger couldn't take it anymore. "What!" she exploded, "What did Gilligan write!"

Mary Ann looked up. "How do you know who it's from?"

Ginger rolled her eyes. "Oh, please! Who else would it be from? Besides, I saw him sneak out of the hut earlier. He looked guilty as sin about it, too. So guilty, in fact, that I thought you were in here." Ginger grinned wickedly, but Mary Ann just looked perplexed.

Mary Ann carefully folded the paper again and held it up. "Do you want to read it?" She heard Ginger squeal and in a blur the note was gone from her hand.

That night, as Gilligan was setting the table, Mary Ann appeared seemingly from nowhere, strode up to him purposefully, and abruptly wrapped her arms around him. She stood up on her toes and hooked her arms around his neck, pulling him to her in a tight hug.

Flummoxed, Gilligan stood stock still, arms out with an empty plate in each hand. He glanced around at the other five castaways grouped around the table. Most of them awkwardly went about their business as if nothing had happened, but Gilligan saw Ginger approaching. She took the plates from him and shot him a look that he knew meant that if she didn't free his arms for a good reason, she'd knock him into next week.

Gilligan hesitated a moment more and then folded his arms around Mary Ann's waist. He felt Mary Ann relax against him and sigh a little with relief, as if she had been worried that he wouldn't return the hug. She tightened her arms around him and squeezed, hoping that it would be enough to make up for all the words that she couldn't find.

"Thank you, Gilligan," she whispered.

Mary Ann then closed her eyes and pressed her lips to his cheek, firmly but tenderly, until Gilligan was slightly tingly from the top of his head to the tips of his toes. Mary Ann finally released him and set her feet fully on the ground, hands sliding down his shoulders as she detangled her arms from around his neck. She shyly lowered her gaze from his face to stare at his buttons.

Gilligan saw the earrings he made glowing against her dark hair, two glistening pearls swinging from each ear, and he gave her a lopsided smile. "You're welcome."

Mary Ann smiled and laid a hand over the necklace. She turned then and Gilligan's arms fell from her waist as she returned to the fire to finish preparing dinner.

Gilligan stood there for a moment, staring after her, arms still out awkwardly until Ginger replaced the dinner plates in his hands.

The Skipper was worried.


End file.
